It happened like this: like something from a nightmare.

 Celia, out in the woods alone, and a hunting moon carving up the sky. No matter how fast he ran, Riose Orage was afraid it wouldn't be enough as distance and time became oddly elastic, stretching before him.

 In the cool of the summer's night, the trees were fearsome shapes, a bevy of spindly arms trying to hold him back. But Riose twisted and turned his body as he ran, moving like the assassin he had once been, breathing deeply.

 She should have known better! He was going to murder Jo for spinning her those tales; the mystery of the woods under a full moon, the carols of the wolves, the clearings where you could lie on the thick grass and truly understand what it meant to love the night.

 Bullshit, all of it.

 Worse yet, Celia had drunk it all down. And part of the blame lay with him - he'd told her that no matter how they tried, there was a part of the night that humans could never fully experience. What a stupid, thoughtless thing to say to someone like Celia, who matched a stubborn streak with a desire to see an argument from every side.
        
 Wrap it up in indigo and ink, smother it in stardust, but you couldn't hide the reality of the night. The wind would still whistle through every gap in your clothes until you had frostbite in places you thought unreachable, and the dark would still surround you, trip you, confuse you, and when the shadows began to snarl, the romance would be bitten right out of your throat.

 It was almost inviting her to walk into the woods, but no matter how tough she thought she was, she couldn´t stare down a werewolf.

 And so he ran - he cast out his senses, searching for her familiar presence, the pale gold of linen, mixed with a curious citrus tang. Sharp and soft at once, that was Celia, there, up ahead-

 Nearby, the brief flash of other minds, circling her in ever-shrinking spirals. Wolves. And she, laid out under the moon like a virgin sacrifice.

 There were only two, moving in on opposite sides of her. He would have to be fast, he would have to be quiet, and he would have to be lucky. The first two, he possessed in abundance. But luck...?

 Luck has led me here, to this moment in this life, he told himself. If only it will hold true long enough.

 His mind clicked into high gear, shedding unnecessary emotion like autumn leaves. The nearest would be easier; it had left its back to him, and if he had to, he could snap its spine with minimal trouble. A quick death, which meant it wouldn't have time to make a sound. Perfect, though he would try not to kill it, if only because Celia wouldn't approve.

 The werewolf was a flat shape against the ground, slinking through the dirt on its belly. He stepped up behind it, his mind empty of all thought, hiding him from its senses just as effectively as magic could.

 In one move, he threw a concentrated burst of mental power at it and dropped all his weight onto its body, a hand clamping around its windpipe to cut off any sound it might try to make. It thrashed beneath him, but weakly, and Riose could feel its mind dimming, slumping into unconsciousness.

 Some old skills never left you, really.

He glanced up, and froze.

Framed between the barbed branches, Celia sat under the moonlight, her arms locked around her knees, her head tilted back to reveal a long expanse of throat. She was transfixed on the sky, the moonlight catching grey on the edges of her profile.

 And in the gap between her legs and the ground, two green eyes flared.

 It had seen him.

 Riose didn't stop to think, there wasn't time for that - he scrambled to his feet and pelted into the clearing-
 
 "Celia!" he shouted, throwing what was left of his power at the werewolf.

It sprang, but awkwardly, as if he had distracted it.

 Her head whipped round, and her eyes widened as she saw him there. No, he wanted to shout, don't look at me, look at it, move...

  But he was the one moving - vaulting over her with a speed born of desperation, smashing into that heavy furred body.

 They crashed down, a tangle of man and wolf, like some mutating monster, and the stink of rotted meat rolled over him as the wolf's jaws stretched-

 Riose banged an elbow into the underside of its muzzle; there was a muffled yelp. And then it was a frantic tumble as he strove to keep its weight and teeth off him. As his initial panic faded, his training kicked in - he'd never felt so grateful to be brought up by a team of violent psychotics - and he began to plant his blows where it would cripple the wolf.

 When he heaved a foot into its ribs, something cracked, and finally, the wolf crawled from him, lurching into the shadows with a limping gait.

 Riose fell back, breathing hard. With the danger gone, anger was beginning to fill up the spaces it had left.

 "Ri?" Celia leaned over him, her expression hidden from him. "Are you okay?"

 He did a quick check. Lots of aches, some impressive bruises on his thighs. Legs attached, arms attached,  head attached, all systems go. "I think so." He got to his feet, grimacing. His head swam, and he caught himself on one of the trees. It had been too long since he'd really put his preternatural powers to use. Still, he hoped Celia hadn't noticed. "Never mind me, are you okay?"  

 Her eyes were wide, the whites shining like pearls in the dim light. It didn't diminish his desire to throttle her until she agreed never, ever to come here alone again. "Thanks to you."

  "Then what the hell were you thinking?" he asked, letting go of his control with a sense of relief. It was good to have someone to take it all out on, good to keep himself from thinking about just how close those snapping jaws had been. He didn´t waste energy shouting, but he couldn´t keep the bite from his words.  "You are not little Red Riding Hood!"

 She looked at him, and he saw her expression tremble before she pulled herself together to muster defiance. "I...I didn't think. I wanted to see what you were always talking about, you know, about the nights here. I just - I wanted to understand."

 "By getting eaten alive? No, no, this is why you can't understand, Cee. You can't protect yourself against the monsters. And they are monsters, trust me on this - they keep away from me because I'm just about scarier than they are, but you...you're meat. Fresh meat."

 All his frustration was pouring out, and letting go of it felt cathartic. It had been too long cooped up in his head as he watched this tender human friend tumble ever further into the Nightworld, too long wanting to warn her and not knowing how.

 Funny, really, that he, who had escaped the worst of his life, couldn't find the words to save the best of it.

 "Is that how you see me?" she said. Her voice was fainter than usual, but she met his eyes with a ferocity that jolted him. "Fresh meat?"

 "Of course not," he protested.

 "Am I just some stupid little girl that needs protecting?"

 Yes, he wanted to say, but he could see the verbal trap in that one a mile off. "Stupid, no. Little, no. Girl...well, you've got the X chromosomes, so I'll go with yes. And yes, you do need protecting from two werewolves who are stronger, faster, and way nastier than you."

 She eyed him grudgingly. "Good answer. My intentions were good, Ri. I just wanted to get to know you a little better."

 "Then ring me, or ask me, don't just go gallivanting off into the woods."

 Wrong thing to say, it turned out. All traces of apology were wiped from her face, replaced by an expression that made him wish for the wolf's return so he could use it as a furry shield.

 She jabbed angry fingers into his arm. "I have asked you! You keep telling me I won't understand."

 He didn't know what to say, and all he could stammer was, "But...you won't. Hasn't tonight shown you that?"

  And then she was close, far too close for his comfort, and Riose shuffled backwards, trying not to let her notice his retreat. Her sardonic smile told him he had failed, and Celia stepped nearer, a challenge in every line of her posture.

 Oh, this wasn't going well.

 "Who are you, Ri? I've known you for years, but sometimes I think I don't know a damn thing about you. If I'm so damn inferior, why are we friends? Stop telling me I won't understand and make me understand!" Her smile flashed, bright and fierce and cruel, and he was astonished that he could be so awed by this human, who approached him as if she had the power here. "I'm tired of your secrets. What have you got to hide? Are you ashamed? Or are you just afraid?"

  It was strange and intoxicating; he'd never seen her like this, those blunt words accentuated by the movements of her body. And he realised, as he stared into those angry eyes, that he was very close to losing her friendship - that if he couldn't answer her now, if all he could offer was excuses and shadows, Celia Slone would have the guts to walk out of his life as easily as she had walked in.

 He was starting to wonder just who was the strong one here.

 Riose cleared his throat, and the answer stumbled out. "Yes."

 She drew back, examining him with a cynic's oblique stare. "Yes? What does that mean?"

 The confession came easier now that he'd begun. "Yes, I'm afraid. And I'm a little ashamed." That was a lie, and he corrected himself. "I'm a lot ashamed."

 "That's ungrammatical," she said almost automatically.

 "Cee, I'm baring my soul here. So while I'm getting spiritually naked, do you think you could spare me the criticism until you've seen the whole package, so to speak?"

 A coy grin crossed her face, and he regretted his words. "Do you say that to all the girls?"

 "Just you," he muttered.

 His respite lasted brief moments, before her stare nailed him to the spot again. "Get on with it, then."

 "I used to belong to the Furies. I did - things I'm not proud of. You think I'm this nice guy, this cuddly vampire, and I'm not sure I am. I'm trying to be, but I don't think it's going to stick. But I do know that our friendship is dangerous for you. Someday, someone I've hurt or upset or just looked at the wrong way is going to track me down, and then they'll use you to get to me. So yeah. I'm scared. And I'm ashamed."

 There, it was out in the open.

 "I don't want the Nightworld to have you," he said simply. "I don't want the Furies to have you."

I don't want anyone to have you but me.

 The thought shocked him. Was that really how he saw her? Wasn't she his irritating friend, half a sister, always blunt and wry and...

 And somehow always there - tearing down the barriers that upbringing and culture had put between them, caring nothing for his inhumanity. When he was with her, he found the best parts of himself rising to the surface, all the mundane horrors of the Furies fading to insipidity. She was more alive than anyone he had ever known, and when he had told her about the Furies, she hadn't fled from him, despite the fact she had been afraid.

  And there, in the dark night that she had wandered to find the truth of his heart, he realised that none of his friends had pelted out into the woods to find her: they had rung the Elders and gone to their parents. But he, who was supposed to be the rational one, had abandoned logic, needing to know she was safe, to be the one who protected her, who kept away the wickedness of the world.

 He struggled to remember what he had been thinking.

"...and..." Oh god, what had he been saying? Riose tried to keep his voice level, mind racing. "...and..."

 Her eyes had narrowed, as if she was seeing something in him she hadn't expected. It only served to unnerve him further. "Ri?"

"Er," he said eloquently.

 She stepped closer, then reached down. There was a bag on the floor that he hadn't seen, and he couldn't see what she took from it until she flicked on the torch and shone it full in his face. "You look odd."

 You'd look odd too if you'd just realised what I have. If you'd spent so much time trying to kid yourself. I thought I didn't want you to touch me because I was afraid I would see you as prey, but that isn't it at all.

 I see you as mine, and that's even more dangerous.

 "I feel a bit...tired," he managed, squinting in her direction. "It was a long run."

 "I didn't want to mention it, but you are oozing sweat," she agreed with unflattering brutality. "And you've gone all pale."

 And then she surprised him even more than she already had.

 The torch went off, and his night vision filtered back in. With deft hands, Celia undid the gold necklace she wore, and stepped up to him, absolutely fearless; she tilted her head to one side, baring her neck, and said, "Here, you need it."

 "No, no-" he deferred - or tried to, before she gave him a short punch to his ribs.

 "Shut up, Ri, you look awful, and I honestly don't mind." She tilted her neck further; it looked like a grotesque parody of a hanged man. "Or isn't my blood good enough?"

 "That's not it," he protested. "You're my friend, and-"

 "And this is a friendly offer. You look like you're about to fall over."

 He made his choice then, realising it was merely an echo of one he had made many years before. Gently, Riose put an arm around her, and bent to her arched neck.

And then he laid his lips on her throat in a soft kiss, and said against her skin, "No."

 She had gone quite still, and when he tilted his head to look her straight on, half-amused at the strangeness of the whole situation, half-terrified of her reaction, she was only watching him. Her silence frightened him more than anything else had.

 "I don't want it to be a friendly offer," he said, working to keep his voice even. "I don't want you to be my prey, no matter how good your intentions are. I'd rather be carried back the whole way - that's the choice I made when I left the Furies. I don't want you as my prey, Celia, I just want you as mine."

 There: one way or another, he had put an end to their platonic friendship. He felt light and distant, his head full of feathers and air.

 Slowly, she tiled her head upright, eyes unblinking.
        
 "Well, it took you long enough to figure it out," she answered, and the smile that lit her had a saucy slant he'd never seen before. "Are you going to kiss me, or just stare all night?"

 "...you knew?"

 "No," she said simply. "But I hoped."

 And then she kissed him with a firmness and a heat that shouldn't have been entirely surprising to him, but was.

 Lips meeting in a dark night, as he had always thought, a flurry of skin and space, her kiss curving into a smile, breath mixing as the world reduced down to the press of her body and the movements of her mouth. But he had never imagined it would be this night, this kiss, these lips.

And now, he hoped it would never be otherwise.

When at last she drew back, still smiling, Riose opened his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly ruin this cotton-candy, doves-and-angels moment, and-

 And the front door banged downstairs, jolting him out of the daydream. Half-awake, half-asleep, he squinted at the clock. Huh, his mother was back late from her date - again. Maybe this new guy was planning to hang around.

 With a grunt, he snuggled deeper into his covers, and drifted back into sleep.

It was an old routine, one he barely considered now: each night, he played out his waking dreams, shaping them and sculpting them. If his friends had known that pragmatic, cool Riose Orage had such livid visions of Celia Slone, they would have been shocked. And he...well, he was afraid of losing the friendship they had worked so hard to build.

 After all, it was easy to be the hero of your own dreams. Real life was more difficult.

 And so he kept his thoughts to himself, the desires he only dared enact in those heavy, surreal moments before sleep overtook him.

 Sweet dreams, but just dreams. For now.